


lucky shot

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Attraction, Banter, Flirting, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Stranded
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-08-28 05:05:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16717080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: “Not to sound like a cliché, but this has, ah, never happened to me before,” Poe said, “sir.” He cleared his throat and returned his attention to the mess that’d been made of the shuttle’s hull. Just how strong were the turbolasers on some of these Firstie fighters? He’d never seen anything quite like it before. “I don’t get shot down.” Swallowing, he winced and turned his head slightly. Sure, he was only pretending to inspect the damage more closely—what was a little smoke inhalation to avoid embarrassment—but he could still hope it looked good, like the real thing and not just Poe trying to cover for himself.





	lucky shot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheKinkAwakens (thekinkawakens)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekinkawakens/gifts).



Poe cringed as he crouched down to get a good look at the tangle of wires spilling out of the side of the shuttle. Fraying and partially melted, they gave off a noxious fume that left Poe’s throat ragged as he coughed and covered his mouth with his elbow and then his undershirt once he realized he was probably going to need his hands. Damn every First Order patrol that just happened to be in the sector of space Poe needed to be in. Damn them to every hell in the galaxy and then some. They were a bunch of damned nuisances, the lot of them, always managing to get into the places Poe wanted to be and doing shit like shooting Poe’s shuttle down.

In a way, he supposed, he was lucky. At least it wasn’t Black One that’d been shot down; it wouldn’t have been fair to say he didn’t care about the shuttle. He cared about all of his ships. But the shuttle wasn’t his baby. To make up for that fact, though, was the realization that he was currently trying to shuttle General Solo to their newest secret base and failing because, again, shot out of the sky by one of the First Order bastards they were trying to elude.

One day, he was really going to kick their asses. Once and for all. And then they’d be sorry for ever daring to attack Poe when he was trying to show off for one of the heroes of the Rebellion and one of the best pilots the galaxy had ever known.

If he was gunning for a chance to play around in the Millennium Falcon’s cockpit, uh. That was his business and his business alone. Euphemism maybe intended and not intended at the same time. It wasn’t often he got Rebellion heroes in his ships along with him. Left him a little bit starstruck though he hid it better than most.

Or maybe not. It was entirely possible he’d have been less easily distracted if it wasn’t Han Solo who’d been sitting in the co-pilot’s seat, shooting the shit like he was just some normal guy. There was no way of knowing.

“Need a hand?” came the dry as the Tatooine desert voice that belonged to said normal guy. He was leaning against the bulkhead, arms crossed, amusement welling in his eyes. Somehow, though, he managed to keep a straight face. Somewhere deep down inside, Poe was grateful for that he was certain.

“Not to sound like a cliché, but this has, ah, never happened to me before,” Poe said, “sir.” He cleared his throat and returned his attention to the mess that’d been made of the shuttle’s hull. Just how strong were the turbolasers on some of these Firstie fighters? He’d never seen anything quite like it before. “I don’t get shot down.” Swallowing, he winced and turned his head slightly. Sure, he was only pretending to inspect the damage more closely—what was a little smoke inhalation to avoid embarrassment—but he could still hope it looked good, like the real thing and not just Poe trying to cover for himself.

“Kid, if I’ve learned one damned thing in life, it’s that someone who’s a shit shot will someday get the drop on you. It’s no big deal. Your reputation as the finest pilot in the Resistance remains intact.”

“Great,” Poe answered, filled to the brim with false cheer. “That’s so good to know. Thank you.”

“And cut this ‘sir’ crap. I’m not your superior officer and I don’t care about the chain of command. I’m not even really a general anymore. It’s a courtesy title.”

Poe ducked his head further and couldn’t stop the smile that stretched across his face at that. The Resistance was pretty informal, especially compared to the New Republic Navy, which could sometimes get up its own ass about titles and respect and all that shit for all that they never seemed to do anything useful, but even by Poe’s now lax standards, Han was a breath of fresh air. He couldn’t help but feel his shoulders relax a bit, the tension across them melting away. Yeah, okay. Poe’d gotten shot down, but it wasn’t the end of the world. In fact, Han was being so nonchalant about it that it really did feel like not such a big deal after all.

“So what should I call you instead? Captain? Mister?”

“Han would be a good place to start,” he suggested, gruff.

“Han, then,” Poe answered, pleased with the way it sounded in his mouth. From the pleased nod Han gave, he seemed to like the sound of it, too. “I never much was one for saying sir anyway.”

“You and most people who end up signing up for rebellions. Just goes with the territory. You shoulda seen what I used to call people back in the day. Sure as hell wasn’t sir.” He offered Poe a sloppy smile and a sloppier salute. But Poe’d heard the tales about him; he could guess what it was Han called the people he’d worked with. From some of the stories he’d regaled Poe with so far on this trip, he could imagine a whole lot more. Han jerked his head toward the panel. “I’ve got a lot of practice patching up ships. Lemme take a look.”

Before Poe could so much as argue or get out of the way, Han was peering over his shoulder at the wreckage, whistling in Poe’s ear. “Sure did get a lucky shot in, huh?” Sucking his teeth, he shook his head and clapped Poe on the back. If Poe felt a pleasant warmth build in his stomach at the touch, he didn’t have to acknowledge it as such. A thrum of arousal could strike anyone at any time. Blame it on the adrenaline; he’d seen much worse done in the name of it. “Ah, well. It’s nothing we can’t fix with a few hours of elbow grease and the hope that the First Order won’t find us in the meantime. I’m sure you’ve been in worse scrapes than this. I know I have.”

“At least they don’t know who they shot down,” Poe offered, a faint glimmer of hope on an unfortunate day. If they knew who Poe was flying around, they wouldn’t have any time at all to get this thing patched up and flight-worthy before the First Order tracked them down. But random sympathizers running a shoddy shuttle that could barely keep itself in the air? That, they could take their time over.

At least that was what Poe hoped.

“At least,” Han agreed, still amused. “Come on, let’s get this taken care of. And then we can talk about how you’re gonna repay me for showing you all my tricks.”

Poe’s stomach tightened and he had to clamp his mouth shut in order to stop himself from offering up a few indecent ways he might be willing to return the favor. There were certain lines Poe wasn’t willing to cross and this was one of them. Call it professional pride. “Oh, yeah?” he did ask, challenging, throwing Han a look of curiosity that Han could read however he liked. Maybe Poe didn’t cross lines, but he knew how to flirt with them. He wouldn’t have called what he did batting his eyelashes, but it was probably more like doing just that than he cared to admit. But if it worked, he wouldn’t cry about it. Han Solo was a handsome man and funny and just plain fun to be around. “And what were you thinking?”

When Han smirked, Poe got the very distinct feeling he knew exactly what Poe was talking about and was maybe receptive to it. “Maybe let’s start with dinner,” he said, a bit of a tease. “But we’ve got a few hurdles to cross before we get there. Unless you’re intending to invite some First Order thugs along.”

Poe laughed and turned slightly before pushing himself to his feet. They were inches from each other at best and as Poe tipped his head up to better look Han in the eyes, their lips almost brushed. “It’s a date.”

And Han didn’t contradict him.

Oh, yeah. This was gonna be good.


End file.
